He was nice
by moriartyswestwoodsuit
Summary: What happens when Molly finds out about Jim's real identity?
1. Jim

[Basically, this came from an idea a friend and I were discussing a while ago. My writing isn't that great, there may be some mistakes, but I hope you like it all the same. I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters from the series. R & R! Ideas and constructive critisism is welcome! :)]

He was nice.

She liked him.

They had met in the canteen at Bart's. It was a rather awkward encounter; awkward for Molly mainly. She had just ordered a coffee and a bag of crisps on her lunch break, and was about the make her way back to the morgue. Why she opted to eat there she'd never know. Perhaps she felt more comfortable there than in the canteen; it was rather crowded at the best of times, and despite the fact that she'd been working at the hospital for a few years now, she didn't know that many there. It was probably because she had always been too shy, too timid, to speak to someone new. Not that she didn't want to, she'd love to, and she just wasn't quite sure how to go about the approach.

The bag of crisps was shoved in the pocket of her lab coat, causing the packet to make a sound as it crumpled in her hand. The other hand was wrapped quite firmly around the plastic cup which contained the liquid. Its warmth seemed to seep through the plastic, increasing the temperature of her palm by a few more degrees. Molly went to turn around, using the balls of her feet to steer her in the right direction. As she did so, she hadn't noticed the figure that just happened to be walking in the same direction she had turned. Coffee suddenly spilled everywhere, onto him more that her. This made him come to an automatic stop.

"Oh, God... Sorry." Molly tried to apologise several times, stuttering between her words occasionally. Her cheeks had become flushed with a light shade of red, indicating her embarrassment, which she clearly tried to hide by placing her hand in front of her mouth. Or was it to try and shut herself up? "Gosh, I am so sorry. I didn't see you there... I-"

Normally, he would have been mad. Normally, if this had happened elsewhere, he would have made an issue of it. However, here, he was playing it cool. Acting. "No, no, it's fine," he silenced her, with some reassurance, and was that an Irish accent she heard?

Shyly, and rather awkwardly, she glanced up towards the male, allowing her hazel orbs to examine him closely for a moment or two. He wasn't that much taller than her. He had dark hair that looked thick due to the product he'd put in, and rich brown eyes, only a slightly darker shade than her own, that seemed to glint in the light which shone from above. His clean shaven features were accompanied with a warm smile, white teeth showing only briefly, adding to the charm that he seemed to carry with him. As she glanced down, she soon noticed the mess she'd made; his white top now had a light brown stain streaked across it, all thanks to the coffee that she had stupidly tipped over him.

"I've made quite a mess... I'm sorry." Did she ever stop apologizing?

He shook his head that smile still there, although it had turned a little fainter. "Don't worry about it." He noticed how she had glanced down at her almost empty coffee cup, disappointment at not getting to drink it riddled on her face. "Let me get you another one."

"No, you don't have to... I'm fine... I should probably get going anyway," she protested. Or tried to anyway.

"I insist," he interrupted her, smiling once more. His tone was quite firm, yet fair.

Molly didn't protest again. Instead, she simply nodded, watched as he slid past her with ease, hands dug into the pockets of his black, worn out jeans. There was a bin to her left. The plastic cup she had been holding onto soon made its home there with the rest of the rubbish. Patiently, she waited. Her eyes darted around the place for a while, taking everything in. She wanted to get back to the morgue, busy herself with bodies to examine, post mortems to do, paperwork to fill in. At least, part of her did. The other part was screaming at her to stay here, accept this man's coffee, and hopefully make one new friend. That prospect excited her. There weren't that many people she spoke to while at work. It would be nice to have someone to chat to during breaks, joke about with, even if it was only for five minutes.

The only people who ever spoke to her in this place were Jack, who sometimes worked in the morgue with her, and Sherlock and John, when they showed up. Although, she never really got much conversation with the consulting detective. John, he was alright, he was polite, so very nice. Sherlock, on the other hand, was a completely different ball game. She attempted conversation, but her attempts were dampened with his harsh comments. And she got it, she understood, or at least she thought she did. He just wasn't much of a people person, she supposed. Either that or he was just saving her from making such a fool of her by saying the wrong thing. The only time he was ever nice to her, properly nice, was when he wanted something. He would complement her on her hair or what she was wearing behind a fake smile, and she would fall for it every single time. It was very clever, very easy manipulation.

So why did she consider Sherlock Holmes her friend? Maybe she liked to think they were, or maybe it was because she liked him in a way he'd never understand. Damn, Sherlock. She shouldn't like him the way she did. He'd never notice her in the way she noticed him. But she never gave up hope.

The man from earlier had now returned, a fresh new coffee in his hand. Molly instantly snapped out of her thoughts, which were flying through her head faster than she could talk. She eyed the coffee and smiled.

"There. No harm done," he said as he handed her the piping hot drink, another smile creased the corners of his mouth.

She accepted the drink and thanked him, her voice soft and quiet, hardly audible above the rest of the noise. Once again, her palm was heated up by the drink, giving her the warm sensation she liked. Gripping onto the cup firmly, she was determined this time not to spill it over anyone.

As she stood there, rocking back and forth on her heels a little, he observed her for a while. Took in her appearance like she had done him earlier on.

She had mousey brown hair, fairly long, which she'd slicked back into a pony tail and was flowing down her shoulder. Her eyes matched her hair. They stood out against her ever so slightly pale, yet natural complexion. It was clear she hadn't bothered with any make up, apart from the mascara that she'd applied. It accentuated her eyes, made them stand out that bit more. The necklace that hung around her neck instantly caught his eye; it was cheap, made from tacky gold, like one of those that you'd get out of an Argos catalogue. Clearly it was a present from a family member or a close friend; otherwise she wouldn't have worn it. That he could tell. He tried to figure out what job she possessed here by examining her lab coat. He wasn't getting much from it; it was fairly clean and well kept. But he could tell that she wasn't a doctor, or a nurse, so something else then. One in a scientific field?

He had noticed that she was shy, too. That wasn't really that hard to guess, though, was it? Not with the way she was acting around him, avoiding eye contact and looking down at the floor. Hiding her insecurities. So, she wasn't that great at communicating with strangers. Perhaps this factor comes from a lonely childhood?

When he finally finished scanning her, trying to make out who she was, he parted his lips to speak. "I'm sorry; I don't think I caught your name." There was distinct charm in his voice, along with that Irish lilt that she liked, a lot.

"Uh... Molly." She lifted her gaze back to his face slowly.

"Jim."

She nodded a few times, smiling awkwardly at him. "Jim!" she exclaimed with somewhat delight. Her voice had gone high pitched and a little too excited. She soon calmed. "Well... It's nice to meet you. I should probably get going..."

"Leaving so soon?" he questioned, stopping her from turning in the direction of the doors.

"Well... I-"

"Only, I thought you'd might like a chat?" His suggestion was followed by a light shrug of his shoulders and a cocked eyebrow. "Just for a few minutes?"

Stay, Molly, stay. Her brain was telling her to stay over and over again. What would be the harm in staying with him for a while? This was, after all, her chance at meeting someone new. Making a new friend. He looked the friendly kind. However, this thought was over shadowed, once again, by her insecurities, the fear of messing up, embarrassing herself. Because, let's face it, she was clumsy at the best of times, and often struggled to speak the words that wanted to fall from her mouth.

In the end, she decided. "Thanks, but I should go..." Chewing on her lip, this time, she did turn to leave.

"At least let me walk with you then?" It didn't look like he was giving up.

Molly refrained from letting a sigh escape her lips; that would be rude. So she nodded, a smile following that action. "Yeah... Sure. If you want. Though, don't you want to get a coffee first, or whatever it is you came for?"

Jim shook his head in reply. "I think I've had my fair share of coffee for today, don't you?" A chuckle left his lips, while his eyes indicated down at the coffee stain on his top. The tight white top that showed a rough outline of his chest.

She chuckled, also, yet the guilt of spilling her coffee all over him was still mustering in the back of her mind. However, he'd seemed to take to the accident rather well, so in the end she decided to forget about the whole thing.

They were silent as the made their way, together, through the large double doors. Leaving the hustle and bustle of the canteen at lunch hour, they entered the quietness of the corridor. It was all so clinical; white washed walls, potted plants, the strong smell of disinfectant circling the air. Molly was certain that she could taste it at the back of her throat when she breathed the scent in. If she ate now, she would surely be sick.

"So," Jim began, breaking the silence that surrounded them. He had been so quiet, she had been wrapped up in her own head, and she had almost forgotten that he was still walking with her. "What do you do here?" he asked.

Molly diverted her attention to him, thinking her answer through before she spoke. "Oh, I work in the morgue. You know, dead bodies, post mortems, that kind of thing..." She sounded proud of the fact that she worked there, doing the job she did. It was a big responsibility.

"Ah." He nodded in approval. "I didn't expect a nice girl like you to be someone who worked in a morgue."

His comment made her blush, her cheeks glowing a baby pink slightly. "I find it interesting. The human body, not death... I suppose death can be interesting... No, the causes... The causes can be quite interesting. Especially if I find a cause I'm not familiar with, I like to find out about it. I enjoy examining the bodies... God, no, I mean..."

Jim silenced her with a soft laugh, his hands dug deep into his jeans pockets once more. "I know what you mean," he commented, watching as she looked away, sipping at her coffee that had drastically cooled in the few minutes they'd been walking through the building.

Molly soon plucked up the courage to ask him the same thing, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

"I work in the IT department," he explained in one smooth go. "Started a few days ago. It's not exactly my ideal career choice, but it's decent enough, and a job is a job, I suppose."

"Yeah..." she mumbled, clutching at her coffee with both hands, fixing her eyes straight ahead. She was still incredibly shy, despite his friendliness and manners.

A few more minutes had passed.

"Do you visit the canteen often?"

She looked at him, confused. "Why?" she asked, a frown appearing on her forehead.

"Well, I need to be prepared, just in case you decide to spill coffee down me again." He chuckled as he spoke, a glint twinkling in his right eye.

"Oh, that." Molly smiled, and then bit down on her lip, trying to hide her blushes of embarrassment all over again. "Only at lunch breaks," she answered him.

"But don't worry; I'll try not to let it happen again." She used the word try because she couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't happen again. With her level of clumsiness, anything was possible.

Jim's own smile had effortlessly changed into a flawless grin, one that made her melt like ice cream under the burning hot sun. She was washed over with a warm feeling inside of her, travelling through her veins at a steady pace, and it wasn't from the coffee.

"I'd better be off," he sighed, stopping himself from walking any further.

Molly stopped, too. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'm this way." He pointed to his right. The IT department was somewhere in that direction, along with other rooms and possible smaller departments.

Molly looked quite disappointed but she tried to mask it with a smile, much wider than the one she had held before. "Okay."

He shoved his other hand back into his pocket, hunching his shoulders a little. For a split second, or maybe two, or three, he glanced around, in front of him, over his shoulder, before resting his dark orbs back upon the young female. "I'll see you around then... Molly."

The fact that he'd said her name made her flutter, mainly because he had actually remembered her name in the first place. She watched as he slid off down another corridor, giving her one last smile as he went, and she watched until he had completely vanished from her view. Smiling to herself. Realizing that she looked silly standing there on her own, staring at nothing for what must have been at least two minutes, she went her own way, heading off to the morgue to continue with her daily job.

The smile was still there as she strolled to the morgue. Satisfaction was painted on her features. She was glad. Glad that she'd finally plucked up the courage to engage in a conversation, no matter in small, with someone new. She was pleased with herself for trying hard not to mess up and to not make herself sound like an idiot. She was happy that he had bothered to even notice her, because no-one ever noticed Molly, quiet little Molly Hooper.

Of course, there were doubts. Ones that she had lingering in the back of her mind. The doubt that she might not see him again, the doubt that he might not be interested in her the next time, if they ever met up again.

Just let go of those doubts, she thought. You can be friends. It's a possibility. It would be nice. Stop worrying. You've met someone nice, someone decent. All thanks to spilled coffee.


	2. Thoughts

[This chapter is probably a little pointless, but I feel there might be some points of relevance in this, LOL. The idea I have for this fanfiction is still a little vague, it might not work how I want it to, I'm not sure yet. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Rate and review. Constructive criticism is welcome. ]

Jim was now back in the IT room, where the computers were lined in six separate rows, and cabinets at one side of the room containing folders, books, other files filled out the space; space which was hardly used. The walls were coated in a baby blue coloured paint, helping to create a cool and calm atmosphere. It was quiet, too quiet for Jim's liking. A few of his fellow colleagues had smiled at him when he made his return, but said nothing, getting on with their work.

Jim had seated himself back at his own computer, sighing to himself as he leaned back in the chair. It was the type of chair that spun around full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, and you could glide across the room at high speed on its wheels. And the ones that could go up and down when you pulled the lever underneath, giving you hours of relentless fun.

His eyes scanned the screen in front of him. The blog of John Watson, companion to the elusive detective, opened up on one of the tabs. He had been reading the man's blog, along with 'The Science of Deduction' by Holmes, since he'd discovered the two of them a while ago, thanks to a reliable source. As he sat there, he allowed himself to read the latest blog entry, 'The Blind Banker' (a case that he had helped ensure, little to the detective's knowledge), chuckling quietly to himself when he should have been working.

Working. In this case, it was a word he disliked. Greatly. This job, working in IT at Bart's, was boring, uneventful, drab, ordinary... The list of words he'd had parading in his mind to describe this job was endless. It was for ordinary people with ordinary lives, those with families that needed looking after and friends that needed their help, bills that needed paying. The kind of life that sickened him and he couldn't imagine living. The money wasn't that good. He could earn a lot more than this being the consulting criminal that he really was.

He didn't concern himself with the ordinary life. There was nothing more boring than being ordinary, which was what he was doing. Pretending to be an ordinary young man. But he had to stick it out, thanks to his obsession, just so he could get closer to Sherlock Holmes.

And he was close, he was so very close. The hospital was a place that Holmes, along with Watson, visited often, so he had been told, thanks to another one of his reliable sources in his criminal network, which was dotted around London. Jim wasn't entirely sure where it was Holmes went to when he came here, but it didn't take him long to figure it out, not after he'd met Molly, who worked in the morgue. The morgue seemed like the obvious place Holmes would be, examining the bodies of those who had died suspiciously, those who were connected to the case he was involved in.

Molly, she seemed nice. His thoughts instantly stretched to Molly. It hadn't been his intention to bump into her that was completely by accident but he couldn't deny that it could work to his advantage. She was kind, so innocent, so timid, the type who found it hard to say no, the type who could easily swayed into giving him what he wanted, even if she didn't know about it. She could get him access to Sherlock without knowing she was doing it. It wouldn't be too hard, not for him, he was good at manipulation and pretending, he'd had years and years of practice.

It sounded wrong to use someone's good nature for nothing more that a twisted game. Taking advantage of someone as kind as Molly just to get to a man he'd never met before. However, he couldn't see any other way at the time. Besides, when did Jim Moriarty ever put other people's feelings into consideration?

Molly's shift had ended sooner than she first thought. What seemed to look like a long day turned out to fly by in a matter of hours.

Lestrade was there at the morgue when she had got back from her lunch break, patiently waiting outside, along with Sherlock and John.

"Ah, Molly, there you are!" Sherlock piped up, stepping forward with his huge feet, a smile gracing his lips.

Molly stopped and latched her gaze onto the tall male. "Oh... Hello. I didn't expect you to be here..." She smiled vaguely, letting her gaze switch to Lestrade and John, who were stood awkwardly behind the consulting detective.

The greying detective inspector began to explain why they were here, even if it was clearly obvious why, only to be silenced by Sherlock asking if she had a Mr Tim Byron on her list. She fiddled with her fingers instinctively as she listened, giving a small nod of her head, before Lestrade and Sherlock started a minor disagreement.

"I'll have a look," she replied, heading into the morgue to check her list that was only a few pieces of paper secured by a clip board. Naturally, she was followed by the three older men.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock told her. "Though, do hurry. It is a rather urgent case."

"It's not that urgent," Lestrade interrupted. "We're not in any rush."

"Are you still here?"

The detective inspector looked a little annoyed with Sherlock's interjection. A sigh that escaped from his lips indicated his annoyance. "Technically, this isn't your case." He buried his hands into his coat pocket, glancing over at John, who hadn't said much since they arrived.

A smirk twitched at Sherlock's lips upon hearing Lestrade's comment. "No, but you need me." His tone was sharp and matched the stern expression he had written on his features and icy blue eyes.

"Alright, girls..." John interjected, silencing the pair before they turned the conversation into an argument.

Once Molly had checked her list, she gave them access to the body that had been stored away for no less than a few hours. It was fresh, the skin still soft in places, and the colour only just draining from the man's body. She watched from the side-lines as Sherlock examined the body in close detail, picking up on the small things that no-one else could, the tiniest clue that could help find the cause of his death. He muttered what he'd found as he went long, giving Lestrade and John points to write down in case they needed anything later on in the case. She stayed silent, avoided conversation by busying herself with paperwork that never seemed to end, and only listened to the discussion that was being carried out by the three men. However, she began to drift off into her own little world, meandering through her thoughts, in and out, in and out, over and over.

"You look alarmingly cheerful, Molly. I assume that has something to do with a nice man you met at lunch today. Am I wrong?"

Almost immediately, she snapped out of her thoughts, seeing the tall figure of Sherlock in front of the desk she was sat at. Glancing at the clock to the side of her, she realised that an hour had gone by, when it had only felt like five minutes.

"Here we go again..." John sighed, appearing by the detective's side, arms folded across his chest. "Do you ever take a day off?"

"What makes you say that...?" she questioned, surprise painted on her face. She shouldn't be surprised, not with Sherlock. Nothing ever got past him, he noticed everything. Even the smallest of things. How he worked it out was beyond her but she knew that any minute now he was about to explain how he knew that she'd met the nice man, Jim, at lunch.

"It's not hard to work out. You haven't stopped smiling since I've seen you. You were rather happy when I saw you walking down the corridor by yourself. You had that look that someone only ever has when they've been with someone they like. You've also been rather quieter than usual, sitting here, obviously thinking about that earlier event. That, plus the fact that you just blushed when I suggested the nice man in the first place."

Molly smiled at that thought as she entered the hallway to her flat, Toby, her cat, coming to greet her with a soft mewing sound while brushing himself against her leg. Leaning down, she stroked him, that content smile still resting on her thin lips.

Slipping off her coat, she then switched on the light as she walked into the living room. It was all cosy and warm with a welcoming feeling in the atmosphere. It was definitely Molly's home; pink was a re-occurring thing, with cushions, curtains, picture frames and a coffee mug on the coffee table coated in the bright colour. The picture frames held photographs of her and her few friends from high school, and family, too. Most of them, though, were of Toby. She loved Toby like a child loved their teddy bear.

As she slumped down on the sofa, curling up, allowing her body to sink into the material, she began to eat the crisps she had purchased from earlier in the day. She had totally forgotten about them until she heard the packet crumple in the pocket of her lab coat when she took it off before leaving the morgue. She wasn't going to waste them.

Toby had clambered up onto the sofa with her and was now strolling about onto her of her until he found a resting spot situated in the corner of the couch.

Molly watched her pet calmly, savouring the taste of the light snack as she chewed them thoughtfully.

She contemplated on Sherlock's words for a while. Nice man. Jim was a nice man. A very nice man, so she thought. She didn't meet nice men that often. Nice men were hard to find. Nice men were never interested in nice Molly. Jim was stuck in her head; his smile, his chocolate brown eyes, his lean figure, his accent. Oh, his accent. It was so soft it could melt even the hardest of metals. He had brought her coffee; no-one else would have done that. At least, she didn't think so anyway. It was a friendly gesture he had given her, offering to get her another coffee, it was rare that happened to her.

I shouldn't get ahead of myself, she told herself in her head. I don't know him that well. He probably doesn't even like me that much anyway. He was probably only being nice to me to stop him from getting angry at me spilling coffee down him. We probably won't even see each other again.

Yet, she didn't see them being anything other than friends. Relationships weren't really her thing anymore. She'd tried, and failed, at a relationship several times, and had eventually given up all hope of finding Mr Right. Friends were something Molly only ever wanted, and if Jim could be her friend, well, and then she was cool with that.


End file.
